


You Never Do

by liamlikesmugs



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angry Sex, Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, like slightly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamlikesmugs/pseuds/liamlikesmugs
Summary: Anyone else remember when Zayn and Harry attended the same party back in early 2016?? Cos I do. This is a little Zarry something, slightly based on canon andthis postby wepush on tumblr.





	You Never Do

By the time Harry's drinking catches up with him he's nearly three sheets to the wind, leaning up against the open bar while some up-and-coming songwriter prattles on in his ear about working her way up and networking and it's been interesting, but Harry's not really listening.  
  
He's been focused on Zayn since the second he walked into the room.  
  
Harry's sure Zayn's noticed his staring at least once or twice, but the most he's gotten in return was a blank stare and a cold shoulder to match the one Harry'd been ready to give.  
  
He's annoying himself with how fixated he's become on Zayn. He honestly hadn't thought about him in weeks, months, and now, simply trying to share a room with him has become unbearable.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry says, giving a polite nod to Amy or Ashley, whatever her name is, and pulling out his cell. "I've got to give my mum a call. Promised I would."  
  
She makes a strange cooing sound and dismisses him with a wave of her hand, telling him something about getting in touch with him via email. He smiles and turns away, shoving his phone back into his pocket before heading to the restroom.  
  
Changing his mind, he switches his course and heads for the open doors that let out onto the crowded patio outside. He leans up against the railing that fences the property, staring out at the twinkling nightlife of Los Angeles as the after party rages on behind him.  
  
He picks up his phone again, thumbing through his voicemails and scrolling down to the last time Zayn called him. Three months ago. They haven't actually spoken in so long, years, but that doesn't stop Zayn from calling him when he's partied too hard or gone too long without a decent night's sleep. Harry pushes on Zayn's latest voicemail, holding his breath as he brings the phone up to his ear.  
  
_"Miss you,"_ Zayn had slurred into the phone, clearly under the influence of something or other, laughing quietly into the phone as the voicemail stretched on in silence. _"Still waitin' for you to call me back."_ More silence, then the sound of a lighter clicking on in the background. _"But you never do."_  
  
He brings the phone back down with a sigh, thumb hovering over the 'delete' button when he hears footsteps approaching.  
  
"Wondered how long it was gonna take you to come out here."  
  
Harry lets out a sigh when he hears Zayn's voice, shoulders sagging as Zayn gets closer.  
  
"What?" Zayn asks, leaning against the railing next to Harry. "Didn't think I was gonna say anything to you?"  
  
"Why would you?" Harry asks, not looking at him.  
  
"I miss you."  
  
"You only miss me when you're high," Harry says, finally turning to look at Zayn. And he's not wrong, his eyes are red and he smells of smoke.  
  
"Well you only miss me when you're drunk," Zayn counters, raising an eyebrow. "Phone works both ways, y'know."  
  
Harry rolls his eyes, not caring for the reminder of his weaker moments, dialling Zayn's number into the phone and leaving the kind of voicemails one should never, ever admit to. He pushes off the railing and turns to go back inside. "Enjoy your night."  
  
"Yeah," Zayn says, scoffs, pulling a pack of cigs and a lighter from his pocket. He turns his head to watch Harry's retreating back as he passes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "You, too."  
  
-/-  
  
It's not even ten minutes later before their paths cross again, this time on the way to the men's washroom. Harry doesn't know why he thought he'd be able to avoid Zayn for the rest of the night, but clearly the universe is intent on proving him wrong.  
  
He takes a deep breath and continues walking, offers Zayn a polite smile of the benefit of any curious eyes or cameras that may be watching. He slips into the restroom, letting out a quiet sigh as he looks himself over in the mirror. He's definitely drunk now and it's starting to show a little. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his fringe back and away from his forehead. He's fixing the collar of his shirt when he hears the loo door open, barely surprised to find Zayn standing behind it.  
  
He rolls his eyes, making for the exit, but Zayn stops him, a hand around his wrist.  
  
"Doesn't have to be like this, y'know." He says, letting go when Harry wriggles his hand free. "You don't have to run out of a room any time you see me."  
  
"I know I don't have to," is all Harry says, standing his ground as Zayn stares back at him.  
  
"Then don't," Zayn takes a step closer, hesitant. "I know you miss me."  
  
And that's how Harry knows he's drunk now, those five words ringing in his head and tugging at his heart as he shakes his head at Zayn even as he lets Zayn take another step closer.  
  
"Only cos I'm drunk," he says, trying to sound ambivalent but he knows he can't, he knows Zayn has always been able to read him like an open book.  
  
"See?" Zayn laughs, dopy and inebriated, "Told you."  
  
It's then Harry figures, _'why bother?'_ and allows himself the one thing he'd been thinking about all night. He reaches out and tugs Zayn closer by his shirt, not stopping until they're in each other's space, breathing each other's air.  
  
Zayn looks back at him and Harry can't tell what he's seeing in Zayn's eyes, aside from the effects of whatever he's taken tonight.  
  
Harry goes in for the kiss then, harsh and unforgiving, claiming Zayn's lips as he pulls him even closer until they're pressed together wherever they can be, standing in the middle of the ornate bathroom, white porcelain framed in gold trimming nearly everywhere Harry turns his eye. But he doesn't have much time to peruse the décor, barely even enough time to make sure they're alone before Zayn is pulling him back in, pressing a hard, biting kiss to his lips.  
  
Harry almost sobs with the feeling he's keeping inside, the _want you's, miss you's, need you's_ , getting caught in his throat as he bites at his lip, letting Zayn mark his way down Harry's neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin the way he knows Harry likes it.  
  
Harry gasps, fingers combing through the quiffed hair at the top Zayn's head, mussing it with his hands as he tugs and holds it tight in his closed fist just to hear the way Zayn groans in response.  
  
Neither has said anything yet, Harry's been holding tight onto Zayn, eyes clenched shut as if this will all disappear if he opens them. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a dream that felt so vivid.  
  
Zayn backs him up to the counter in front of the mirror, getting his hands under Harry's thighs to prompt him to hop up onto it, and Harry does, pulling Zayn into the vee of his legs and into another kiss.  
  
It feels surreal, to him, how Zayn can still feel the same, look the same, taste the same, after all the time that's passed, all the anger and resentment that lingers, the sour feelings shared between them, the bitter comments made in interviews, the –  
  
"Turn your brain off," Zayn says, speaking for the first time in what feels like ages. "Stop thinking so much, Harry, you're gonna ruin it."  
  
There's a joking lilt to his voice, but Harry can hear what's underneath it. He can see the pleading in Zayn's eyes so he nods his head, fumbling for the waist of Zayn's jeans and popping the button open. Soon he's got his hand on Zayn's cock, fingers curling around the girth of him and Harry bites back a moan, pressing his face into Zayn's neck as he strokes him slowly.  
  
"Come on, Harry," Zayn groans, fucking himself into Harry's hand. "Let's not waste time."  
  
"When did you get so bossy?" Harry mumbles, brows furrowing as he pulls back, holding up the hem of Zayn's shirt so he can watch the head of Zayn's cock peeking through his fist.  
  
"Lot's changed," is all Zayn offers in reply, leaning forward to catch Harry's lips in a rushed kiss. He reaches a hand behind himself and into the pocket of his jeans, coming back with a small sachet of lube. He sets it down on the counter and takes a step back from Harry, tucking his dick back into his jeans before tugging Harry down off the counter and flipping him around so he's facing the mirror.  
  
Harry catches sight of himself then, taking in the reflection of himself and Zayn, pressed close together against the counter, Zayn's mouth working at Harry's neck as he reaches round to undo Harry's trousers. He makes eye contact with Harry in the mirror then, letting out a quiet laugh to himself as he asks, "Just like old times, innit?"  
  
Harry shuts his eyes then, offering silence in response. He's not interested in reliving old times. No matter how many times he's remembered those nights on his own, watching himself wank in hotel mirrors, trying to imagine the touch of Zayn's fingers on his hips, bruising and tight as he holds Harry down, he doesn’t want to think of it now. Not when he has the real thing here with him.  
  
He leans over, bracing his elbows on the counter when Zayn prompts him to lean forward. He holds his breath when he feels the slickness of Zayn's finger pressing against him, winding his hips back against the intrusion.  
  
"Who brings lube to a fucking pre-GRAMMYs party, anyway?" Harry asks, huffing out a breath when Zayn jabs his fingers in harshly as a means of response.  
  
"Someone who knows you," Zayn says, snarky as he adds a third finger, fucking Harry with them until his hole is looser, wet with lube. Harry feels like he has no time to really reply before Zayn's cock is right there, pressing against him before pushing forward.  
  
Harry bites his lip against a groan, letting his eyes slide shut as he tips his head back, hips winding until Zayn's all the way in, the head of his cock pressed snugly against Harry's prostate.  
  
"Fuck," Zayn breathes through clenched teeth, "forgot how good we used to fit." 

_‘I didn't, I could never,’_ Harry doesn't say, instead rolls his hips back against Zayn as a way to tell him to get moving. He does, fingers finding their way to Harry's waist and pressing, making Harry whimper quietly as Zayn fucks him like they're back on the tour bus or sharing a bed on a hotel night. 

  
He hates how much he misses it, hates Zayn for making him miss it at all.  
  
He feels a stab of anger pierce his gut at that; none of this is his fault, he's not the one that left, he shouldn't have to be the one on his knees grovelling for forgiveness.  
  
He reaches a hand back, gripping at Zayn's hair and tugging it, distracting himself from his angry thoughts by focusing on the feeling of Zayn's lips at his neck, Zayn's fingers on his hips, the drag of Zayn's cock inside him.  
  
"Fuck," he gasps, eyes flying open when one of Zayn's hands comes around to grip the base of his cock, squeezing it tight before sliding up toward the head.  
  
"Easy as ever," Zayn taunts him, stroking Harry off as he fucks him deep. "'S like nothing's changed."  
  
‘ _Everything's changed,’_ Harry's mind argues, even as he feels his cock throb in Zayn's hand, fresh precum pooling at the slit before getting caught by Zayn's fingers.  
  
Harry tunes out Zayn's voice as he continues to talk, focusing on how close he is to coming instead of the words Zayn's saying. He doesn't care. Really, he doesn't.  
  
"Haven't got all night," Harry groans, impatient. "Fuck, make me come."  
  
"Why?" Zayn asks, slowing the roll of his hips until he's barely moving in or out, grinding his cock deep. "So you can run out of here and act like this never happened? 'S that what you want?"  
  
Harry gives a frustrated laugh in response, batting Zayn's hand away from his cock and stroking it himself. "Don't need you," Harry says, pulling himself off with quick, tight strokes around the head of his cock. He bites his tongue before his more spiteful side can add, _'never did.'_  
  
He's painfully close to coming by the time the shocked expression leaves Zayn's face, instead being replaced by one of annoyance. He'd laugh if he couldn't feel his orgasm starting in the pit of his stomach, balls drawing up tight as he feels himself rolling closer to the edge.  
  
Zayn seems to unfreeze then, getting a hand between Harry's shoulder blades and pressing until he bends at the waist again, narrowly stopping himself from face planting on the counter with his free hand held out in front of himself.  
  
"Fucking—" he stops himself short when Zayn cuts him off with a hard thrust, knocking the air out of him.  
  
"Don't need me, huh?" Zayn asks, voice low and quiet. "I don't need you either," he says, fucking Harry hard, the sound of their hips meeting echoing through the empty bathroom. "But here we are."  
  
Harry wants to reply, say something mean back, but he can't find the words as his orgasm finally rolls through him, tensing his body as he comes into his own hand, shooting over his fist.  
  
Zayn gasps when he feels it, giving a few harsh thrusts before he's coming himself, hips moving until he's spent.  
  
He's pulling out of Harry in a second, saying nothing as he quickly cleans himself up, giving one last glance to his own reflection in the mirror before slipping out of the bathroom and leaving Harry there, trousers down around his ankles and Zayn's come running down his thigh.  
  
-/-  
  
Niall wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating loudly against his nightstand, screen lit up and shining brightly in the darkness of his bedroom.  
  
He reaches for it blindly, swiping across the screen and bringing the phone to his ear without even checking to see who it is.  
  
"'Lo?" His voice is deep and tired, eyes clenching shut as he tries to wake himself up.  
  
"What's your stance on fate? Or like, destiny?"  
  
He instantly recognizes Harry's voice, letting out a quiet sigh as he rolls onto his back. "Did he call you again?"  
  
"Not this time," Harry answers, drumming his fingers against his thigh, feeling antsy in his own skin. It’s been hours since he left the party, since he shakily cleaned himself up and tried to pull himself together before ducking out through the rear entrance. He’s back at his house now, lying awake in bed. The clock on his nightstand says it’s just after midnight, which means the sun is barely risen in London where Niall is.

"I saw him." Harry says, tactfully leaving out the part where he let Zayn fuck him in the washroom. He doesn't quite feel like that's something Niall needs to know.  
  
"Where?"  
  
"GRAMMY party."  
  
A quiet, "Hm," is all Niall offers in answer, letting the call stretch on in silence for a few moments. Harry doesn't mind, he really only called cos he didn't want to be alone.  
  
"Does it mean anything?" Harry asks, tugging at his bottom lip. "Do you think?"  
  
"No, Harry," Niall sighs, his voice quiet. "Nothing's changed. He's still who he is and you'll always be you. I don't know what you're expecting."  
  
"Me either," Harry agrees, even as he feels the knot in his stomach tighten. "I really don't. I just—"  
  
"I know, Haz," Niall assures him. "I know."  
  
-/-  
  
The rest of the year comes and goes without incident, Harry finishes his album and gets to work on promoting, lining up interviews and guest spots and appearances and performances.  
  
It feels good to be busy again, to get out of his own head and throw himself into his work. He's missed that.  
  
He's riding in a limo, on his way to Radio 1 for an album listening party with Nick, when he feels his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks down at the screen, recognising the sender's number even though it isn't saved in his phone.  
  
The text he's received is short, but it makes his stomach flip nonetheless:  
  
_from the dining table, huh ?_  
_sounds kinda familiar_  
  
He lets out a sigh as he reads and rereads Zayn's text, unsure whether or not he should answer. He knows he's not going to, knows Zayn knows that, too, but he still ponders it as he looks out the window of the car, watching as London flies past in varying shades of grey.  
  
His phone vibrates again a few minutes later, this time with an incoming call from the same number. He stares down at it, taking a deep breath before swiping his thumb across the screen to answer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr at [haroldsbee](http://haroldsbee.tumblr.com)!


End file.
